


Soul Survivor

by wolfize



Series: Coda [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Bottom Sam, Coda, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s10e03 Soul Survivor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3480152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfize/pseuds/wolfize
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is certain of one thing: he can't do this without his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soul Survivor

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own these characters, or the show, or the smattering of dialogue I took from the actual episode. Just trying to stay consistent, or something.
> 
> (I didn't get this beta-read, so if you see any typos/grammar issues you can point them out to me and I'll fix them. I won't take it personally.)

Sam's blood had run cold when he’d walked back into the dungeon to find the door open. The chair Dean'd been bound to had been empty, cuffs and rope laid casually across it, taunting him. He hadn't been gone long, not even five minutes, and he’d been sure Dean's bonds were secure when he left.

Serves him right to have underestimated his brother.

Now, he and Dean are face to face, Sam’s knife pressed against Dean’s jugular. Dean is sneering at him, pretty features distorted as he tries to goad Sam into slitting his throat. Dean’s eyes are glittering, and he looks so clearly like Sam's brother that Sam hesitates for a moment.

“Well… Look at you,” Dean purrs, two parts amusement and one part disdain. "Do it. It’s all you."

And Sam can't. He never could. Not now, not after everything they've been through. He lowers the blade and Dean grins, green eyes flickering to black. Dean takes a step forward, but he never gets the chance to attack. All of a sudden, strong arms encircle Dean, holding him in place.

“It’s over,” Castiel says, voice thrumming with a power that Sam hasn’t heard in a while. His eyes glow an intense blue, echoes of grace resonating through the hall. Dean grunts, struggling against him, but Cas's grip is solid. "Dean, it's over."

Dean pitches his head back and yells, eyes rolling back into his head as he passes out.

\--

It takes the two of them to haul Dean's limp body back to the dungeon, Cas’s arms wrapped around Dean’s torso and Sam's good arm around his legs. Sam is reminded of the last time he had to carry his brother, and he has to force himself to take a deep breath and shake it off. He doesn't have time for thoughts like that now.

Sam adjusts his grip on his brother, and Cas gets the cue, shifting so that he's taking all of Dean's weight. Cas sets Dean down in the chair, manhandling him upright while Sam fetches the sanctified blood.

Neither of them have said a word to each other since Cas arrived, too preoccupied with transporting Dean. The silence is almost oppressive, so Sam speaks up.

"Are we doing the right thing, Cas?" he asks, running his hand through his hair. “Are we really making the right choice?”

Cas’s voice is solemn, a perturbed frown etched into his brow. “Sam, it’s the only choice we have.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“We have to try. Father Thompson was successful, there’s nothing to say you won’t be as well.”

Sam takes a deep breath. “I just don’t want to lose him, Cas. I can’t lose him, not after everything.”

“I know, Sam,” Cas murmurs, and suddenly he’s at Sam’s side, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. Sam makes a choked-off noise, almost a sob, and Cas wraps his arms around him, mindful of his injured shoulder. Sam drops the syringe he was holding, arm coming up to return his friend's embrace. He feels like he’s one step from spiraling into despair, but Cas’s grip is grounding. They stand there for a moment while Sam gets his bearings, Castiel’s hand running up and down Sam’s back. It’s oddly soothing.

Sam clears his throat and pulls away, clapping Cas on the shoulder. Cas releases him, stepping back and bending to retrieve the syringe Sam had dropped. Cas smiles as he hands Sam the syringe, and for the first time in months, Sam’s answering smile is genuine.

They make quick work of the rest of the ritual, drawing a fresh syringe and dosing Dean again. They’re down to one last dose to complete the cure, and Dean still hasn’t woken up. Sam’s a little anxious, because Dean should be conscious and blubbering about humanity at this point, but he hasn’t roused since they carried him back to the dungeon, and Sam doesn’t know what to do with that. He’s been debating whether they got the lore wrong, whether the ritual won't work because of that accursed Mark scorched into Dean's flesh, and the notion is terrifying.

“Relax,” Cas says, and Sam wonders if Cas's new grace has him attuned to human feelings or if Sam’s just that transparent. “We have no reason to believe the ritual will fail. The Mark is its own issue entirely; I doubt it’ll have any effect on Dean being cured. And if it does, we’ll deal with it when the problem arises.”

Sam nods, reassured. He takes a deep breath and steels himself, drawing the last syringe of sanctified blood.

This is it.

Sam walks over to where Dean’s tied up, grits his teeth, and jabs the needle into Dean’s arm, pressing down on the plunger. Sam removes the syringe, stepping back slowly, eyes lingering on the eight puncture wounds in Dean’s forearm and the unmarred Mark of Cain standing out starkly against Dean’s pale skin, almost mocking.

Sam and Cas stand poised and ready, waiting.

Nothing happens.

“What the hell are we doing to him, Cas? I mean, even after I gave him all that blood, he still said he didn’t want to be cured, that he didn’t want to be human.” Sam stares at his brother, motionless in the chair, and feels like his chest is being ripped in two.

“Well… I see his point. You know, only humans can feel real joy, but … also such profound pain. This is easier.” Sam glances at Cas sidelong, but the angel is staring at Dean.

It seems to happen all at once. Dean shakes his head almost imperceptibly and grunts, and then he does it again, and then he's lifting his head and his eyes are opening and they're black but then they're that clear green again, and Sam is staring in disbelief. Dean's eyes close and he shakes his head again, letting out a harsh breath. When he opens his eyes a second time, he looks uncertain.

"You look worried, fellas," he says, and it's Dean, Sam knows it's Dean, but he throws the holy water anyway.

There's no hissing flesh, no screams of agony, just the normal, human disdain associated with being splashed in the face.

A smile spreads across Sam's face, and he knows that Castiel is echoing the expression beside him.

"Welcome back, Dean."

\--

It's been one hell of a night.

Sam sends Cas off once he comes back with some food, promising the angel they'll talk once Dean is back on his feet. Sam wants to know about Hannah, and about Cas's grace, and they need to figure out more about this Mark Dean's toting, but he has to tend to his brother first.

He knocks on Dean's door, greasy McDonald's bag of burgers in hand.

"Yeah?" Dean says, and Sam takes it as permission to come in. Dean's sitting on his bed, head in hands, but he looks up when Sam enters the room.

"How you feelin'?" Sam asks, stepping further into the room so he can fully shut the door.

Dean chuckles humorlessly.

"Like shit." Sam hands him the bag, and Dean takes out a burger and unwraps it. "Thanks," he says hesitantly. "Sam, I-"

"I know, dude, dont worry about it. I mean- well, you know what I mean. We can talk about it later, man."

Dean opens his mouth like he's gonna protest, but Sam cuts him off.

"I'm serious dude, I'm wiped, and I know you are too. We'll talk about it in the morning." Dean is staring at the ground by Sam's foot, mouth twisted in a frown, and Sam doesn't think he's seen his brother look this lost since he admitted he was scared of going to hell. It pulls on Sam's heartstrings a little bit. "There are pies in there, those little apple ones that they sell for like, fifty cents?" he says, and for some reason, he feels unsure. "I got a few, thought you might like them."

Dean quirks a smile, and it's not much, but it's something.

"And Dean?"

Dean meets his eye again, jaw ticking. He looks terrible- pale, tired, with a haunted look about him. But Sam's got his brother back, and that's good enough for Sam, right now.

"I really am glad to have you back."

\--

Sam doesn’t get drunk that night. He pulls a bottle of Jim Beam from the liquor cabinet, fetches and rinses a glass. He sets the glass and bottle on the table and sits. But he doesn't drink. He doesn't need to get shitfaced tonight. He needs to sleep. He can hit the liquor tomorrow when the shock of the whole situation has worn off and the guilt has taken its place.

Leaving the bottle and glass on the table, Sam heads to his room. He undresses quickly, taking off the sling before stripping down to t-shirt and boxers.

He climbs into bed, nestling down under the covers. He curls up on his left side, back to the door. It's not how he usually likes to sleep, but it's the easiest position not to jostle his shoulder if he rolls over in the night.

Sam spends an indeterminate amount of time staring at a spot on the wall, willing himself to fall asleep. He's tired as hell, but his mind is racing a mile a minute and he can't seem to quiet it. Maybe he should've had a drink. Or seven. He probably would've been able to pass out, at least. Instead, the weight of the day- hell, the weight of the last few weeks, months- washes over him. Guilt sits at the pit of his stomach, heavy like an anchor.

Even though Sam had brushed off Dean's insults when he spat them viciously, they're all playing through his mind now. Logically, he knows that Dean didn’t mean any of it, that none of it is true, and he was just being intentionally malicious to try to get to Sam. And it hadn’t worked.

Except for the fact that it had.

Sam can’t shake the feeling that even though Dean wasn’t himself, that doesn’t mean his words  weren’t true. Sam knows Lester’s death is on him, and he’ll never forgive himself for that. He knows that some of the things he did, the lengths he went to in his search for Dean- there’s no coming back from that. He doesn’t deserve redemption.

And the other thing. Weighing Dean down, keeping him from living his own life. Sam’s felt that for years, has been dreading it most of his life. It’s part of why he left the life when he did, a big part of it.  

Sam's honestly not sure which hurt worse: seeing his brother in so much pain or hearing all his biggest fears and insecurities recited back to him like some sort of joke track, the timbre and cadence of his brother’s voice making each little jab _that_ much sharper.

Sam hasn’t been here in a while, hasn’t had the time to dwell on his mistakes and failures. What with the research and the hunting, the single-mindedness with which he sought Dean out, he’s been able to ignore the niggling voice in the back of his head telling him what a worthless, selfish waste of space he is. He hasn’t missed this, this despair and self-loathing, but now that it’s resurfaced, Sam doesn’t know how to push it back down.

Sam’s interrupted from his thoughts by the sound a throat clearing, and he turns to find Dean standing in his doorway. He didn’t hear the door open, but obviously it did, because Dean is standing at the foot of Sam’s bed where he hadn’t been two minutes ago.

They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, Dean not moving any closer to Sam and Sam not saying a word. The room is stifling with everything not being said, all the unspoken words and repressed emotions building up in a crescendo of need and want and pain. This thing between them, this undefinable, irrefutable, sick need they have for each other, neither of them have acknowledged it in what feels like forever. Even before the Mark and Gadreel and Kevin, there was baggage between them, Purgatory and Benny and Amelia, and the trials, all sorts of distractions and reasons not to get back into this thing they’ve been doing practically all their lives. It’s been months since Dean’s even stood in Sam’s room, and the air between them now feels charged, electric.

It's clear what Dean wants, and Sam would be lying if he said he doesn't want it too. It’s not about sex, it’s shared blood and bond and duty and necessity, it’s joy and pain and weakness and desire. Sam doesn’t know if starting this again will fix anything- actually he’s more of the opinion that it might make things worse- but Sam needs his brother.

Sam pulls back the covers and shifts on the mattress, making space in the bed for Dean.

“Sam,” Dean asks quietly, hesitant, and Sam huffs, almost a laugh.

“You need a formal invitation or something?” he quips, turning away from Dean and scooting a little more to give Dean more room if he wants it. He feels the mattress dip behind him, and then Dean is plastered up against his back, arms snaking under and around Sam, careful not to knock his shoulder. Sam’s skin is alight every place it’s in contact with Dean’s, and he feels like a live wire, and it’s exhilarating. Dean’s legs tangle with his, and his brother pulls the covers up over the both of them.

It’s easy, surprisingly so, to fall back into this rhythm with Dean. It’s not until they come back to this that Sam realizes how much it grounds him, opening himself up to his brother this way. It’s an unlikely peace in their otherwise hectic lives, and Sam feels himself finally giving in to sleep.

"'M sorry," Dean mumbles into his neck, and he's so quiet and Sam's so close to unconsciousness it's lucky he even hears Dean at all.

"Not your fault," Sam murmurs back. "Wasn't really you."

Dean makes a soft sound halfway between a snort and a scoff, like he disagrees, but he doesn't say anything. He does press a kiss to Sam's nape, breathing deeply before resting his forehead on Sam's shoulder blade.

Sam isn’t quite sure what exactly Dean’s apologizing for. He doesn’t know how much of it Dean really remembers- if he remembers what he said, or what he did, or how he ripped Sam's heart clean out of his chest and fed it to the dogs while Sam was still bleeding. But none of that matters, at least not right now. It doesn't matter because he's got Dean back, his Dean, and that means that they're both more okay than they've been in awhile. There'll be talking, sure, about them and about Crowley and about the Mark, but for now Sam's content with just being. He deserves to get to ignore everything else for a little while.

“It’s gonna be okay, Sammy,” Sam hears as he drifts off, Dean’s thumb stroking back and forth on his forearm, hypnotic. “We got each other. We’re gonna be okay.”

\--

Sam wakes up slowly, warm and content and safe in his brother’s arms. Dean’s not awake yet, so Sam relaxes, twining his fingers with his brother’s.

Sam glances around his room, taking in his mostly-bare walls, noting the lack of his personality in the one place he can call his own. He makes a mental note to change that, to make the place his home when he has the time, instead of just the place where he sleeps.

He feels it when Dean wakes up. Dean snuffles against Sam’s neck, lips smacking a couple times as he tightens his arms around Sam.

“Mornin’.”

“Morning,” Sam says, turning in the circle of Dean’s arms. Dean moves one arm to accommodate Sam’s shoulder, placing it on Sam’s hip instead.

“Sleep well?” he asks, eyes half-lidded as he gazes at Sam.

“Yeah. Surprisingly. Actually, this was the first good night’s sleep I’ve had in a while. I think, uh, I think it helped that you were here.”

Dean makes a noncommittal noise. The hand not on Sam’s hip goes to his neck, pulling him closer so that his and Dean’s foreheads are touching.

Dean presses his lips to Sam’s and kisses him slow and sweet. Sam returns the kiss with fervor, trying to speed things up, but Dean just chuckles and pulls back slightly when Sam chases after his lips.

“Easy, tiger,” he says, and his eyes are glittering, clear and bright, and Sam is so grateful for that green, so glad to have his brother back.

“I wanna do this slow,” Dean murmurs, thumb tracing Sam’s bottom lip. “Wanna take you apart, make you feel good. Will you let me do that, Sammy?”

Sam whimpers, nudging his half-hard cock up against Dean’s thigh and nodding. Dean leans in again, taking Sam’s face in his hands and kissing him deeply. Sam’s mouth falls open when Dean’s tongue pushes at the seam of his lips, and he moans as Dean’s tongue curls around his.

Sam’s hands slide up Dean’s back, rucking his t-shirt up. Dean pulls back for a moment so Sam can pull his brother’s shirt up and over his head, quick to do the same with his own, before they’re meeting back in the middle, panting breaths and hot flash of tongue.

Dean rolls them over so Sam's under him, spread out on the bed. "Shoulder okay?" he asks, trailing kisses down Sam's throat, pressing his lips to his brother's collarbones.

"Fine," Sam replies, breathless, choking on a moan as Dean slips a hand into his boxers and jacks him slow.

"What happened? To your shoulder, I mean."

Sam groans. "Do you really wanna have this conversation now," he grits out, but Dean just laughs and tightens his fist around Sam's cock. Sam rolls his eyes but indulges him. "Was a demon. Me and Cas were hunting, searching for you. We got separated, and it got hairy there for a second, but we came out fine." _And we found you_ , he doesn't say, but maybe Dean can feel it in his gaze.

Dean nods, like he understands, and he leans down to kiss Sam again. His hands come up to frame Sam's face, and Sam is so overwhelmed, so much sensation and so much emotion that he just feels like he's going to burst, and tears start brimming before he can school his expression.

"No, c'mon, don't do that, Sammy," Dean says, wiping at the corners of Sam's eyes. "I've got you, little brother." He kisses the apples of Sam's cheeks, strokes his hair. "I'm here now, and I'm gonna take care of you, okay?" Sam nods mutely, and Dean kisses him once more before pulling away.

He reaches over Sam to rummage in the nightstand, procuring a bottle of lube and a condom and dropping them on the bed. Then he turns his attention back to Sam, kissing him slow and deep and dirty before peppering kisses down his body. He kisses Sam's throat, Sam's shoulders, Sam's collarbones, down his chest, gently rolling a nipple between his teeth and soothing the sting with his tongue. Dean kisses Sam's underarms, his belly, his forearms, his palms, sucks each of Sam's fingers into his mouth and lavishes them with attention. Sam feels like he's being worshipped, and he sure as hell doesn't deserve it, but he arches into Dean's touch anyway, greedy for it.

Dean continues down the long line of Sam's body, circumventing Sam's cock, hard and leaking precome as it strains against his boxers. He kisses Sam's inner thighs instead, nosing at his balls. He keeps going down until he reaches Sam's feet, kissing the pad of each foot and lavishing the same attention on Sam's toes as he did Sam's fingers. Sam is shaking with the pleasure of it all, feels like he's gonna come apart at the seams, it's so good. Dean comes back up, hovering at Sam's waist, tongue swirling into the notch of his belly button. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of Sam's shorts, tapping Sam's hip to get him to lift up. He pulls the boxers down and off, tossing them on the floor before divesting himself of his own boxers and doing the same.

Dean crawls up Sam's body once again, positioning himself over Sam so their cocks are lined up. He thrusts against Sam, and it's slick with their precome and oh-so hot. Sam feels like he's gonna lose it and they've barely just started, that's how good it feels. Dean catches Sam's lips with his again, kissing Sam slow and sensual as they find a rhythm, Sam grinding up as Dean grinds down.

Sam's hands come up to grip Dean's shoulders, blunt nails digging into his brother's flesh. Dean groans at that, grinding down against Sam harder. Dean takes Sam's left hand in his right, intertwining their fingers and pressing their joined hands against the headboard. His other hand finds the lube where he'd abandoned it on the bedspread.

They go like that for a few minutes, grinding in a slow, easy rhythm. Dean lets go of Sam's hand with a kiss to Sam's palm, hands moving down to massage circles into his brother's hipbones.

"You good, Sam?" he asks, seeking permission to continue.

Sam's eyes are shut tight, but he nods jerkily. "Please, Dean," he says, spreading his legs. "Need you."

"Fuckin' Christ," Dean mutters, mostly to himself, pushing Sam's right leg up so he can get better access to Sam's hole. He pops the cap on the lube, pouring a generous amount on his fingers. Dean's index finger traces Sam's hole, making him gasp. Dean pushes gently a few times, nudging just the tip of his finger into Sam before he pushes deeper against the resistance. It's been so long since Sam's done this, even with his own fingers, and he feels so full with it, feels like he's gonna burst right out of skin. Dean takes his time prepping Sam, playing with his rim and stretching him before he adds another lubed finger, and then his tongue, fucking into Sam as he scissors his fingers. Sam moans above him, so far gone already, cock steadily leaking precome onto his belly.

Dean seems willing to go at it for hours, content to lick and suck on Sam's rim around his fingers, but Sam huffs impatiently, nudging Dean's shoulder.

"'M ready," he murmurs urgently against Dean's mouth when Dean pulls his fingers out, coming up to kiss him again. He can taste himself on Dean's tongue, musk and sweat and skin. "Please, Dean, want you to fuck me."

Dean kisses the words off Sam's lips, fucking his tongue into Sam's mouth as he rolls on the condom and slicks lube onto his cock. He gets lined up, blunt head of his cock pressing against Sam's hole.

One of Dean's hands is at the base, holding himself steady as he pushes into his brother inch by inch, his other hand on Sam's hip, holding him in place. They both moan when Dean bottoms out, hips flush against Sam's thighs. Dean sets the pace, slowly grinding down into Sam, only pulling about halfway out before he pushes in again. Sam bucks up to meet him on each thrust, finding Dean's hand again and twining their fingers together. Sam's legs wrap around Dean's waist, heels digging into the meat of Dean's ass, urging Dean to move faster. Dean keeps it slow, a filthy-sweet grind as he presses open-mouthed kisses to Sam's mouth and throat and upper body. Sam fists his other hand in Dean's hair, careless of his shoulder, and Dean slows down even more, always looking out for his brother. Sam wants to cry with how good it is, sharp sounds being punched out of him with every thrust that nails his prostate.

Dean groans and flips them over so that Sam's on top, straddling him, and Sam feels even more full this way, and it's heaven. Dean stops thrusting a moment so he can scooch back on the bed, leaving him upright against the headboard, Sam in his lap.

"Stubborn little bitch," Dean grits out, moving Sam up and down on his cock in time with his thrusts. "Don't want you to hurt your shoulder worse, man. Gotta take care of yourself, little brother."

"I have you for that," Sam murmurs, leaning in to kiss his brother.

"Damn straight you do," Dean says, pushing up into Sam and kissing his nose, his chin, his cheeks. Sam closes his eyes, mouth falling open on a gasp as Dean brushes his sweet spot again, and Dean kisses his eyelids, too.

One of Dean's hands leave Sam's hip to grip the back of Sam's neck, pressing them together so their foreheads are touching. They're barely kissing at this point, more breathing into each other's mouths, but that's just as good, sharing each other's air.

"Sammy," Dean says, and the demon called him that, _Sammy_ , but coming from Dean’s lips, it’s like absolution.

Dean thrusts up a few more times, deep and hard, before he stills and buries himself in Sam's tight heat. His hand finds Sam's cock, hard and aching between their bellies, and he jerks Sam off as he comes inside, filling the condom. Sam kisses him through it, tongue curling against Dean's lazily as Dean fucks up into his brother.

Sam's orgasm has been building steadily since he started riding Dean, and one flick of Dean's thumb over the head of Sam's cock has him bearing down, clenching around Dean's length as he spills between them, release washing over him in a pleasant wave. Dean cries out at the sensation of Sam's hole fluttering around his spent cock, hips slamming up into Sam as his cock pulses one last time.

They come down together, laughing quietly as they move back down the bed. Dean pulls out and they both groan at the loss. He removes the condom, tying it off and tossing it into the wastebasket in the corner of Sam's room before turning back to cuddle his brother. Sam curls into Dean, burying his face in his brother's neck and tangling their legs together.

Dean kisses the top of his head, brushing Sam's hair behind his ears. He wraps an arm around his brother and holds him close, pulling the covers over the both of them once more.

They should probably get up, get out of bed. Eat food, maybe. Shower, probably. Definitely talk about things. But none of that is pressing; they have time. Sam and Dean are curled up together, savoring each other, and that’s what’s important right now. Everything else can wait till later.

Dean’s lips find Sam’s again, and it feels like coming home.

 _Yeah_ , Sam thinks to himself. _Later_.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first part in a coda series I am planning to write for certain S10 episodes, depending on how this one goes. This is _also_ the first SPN fic I've published, and the first time I've written from Sam's perspective, so feedback is extremely welcome. You can leave it here or come bother me on [tumblr](http://joharvhelle.tumblr.com/ask). The smut kinda got away from me, don't hold me responsible. Sorry (not sorry) for all the angst it took to get there. Hope you liked it!


End file.
